


A Tap at the Pane

by hellabaloo



Category: Push (2009)
Genre: Distance, F/M, Friends to Lovers, Post canon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-06-27
Updated: 2013-06-27
Packaged: 2017-12-16 07:54:29
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,356
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/859732
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hellabaloo/pseuds/hellabaloo
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Two years, five months, and a handful of weeks after Hong Kong, Nick and Cassie rescued Elizabeth and exposed Division. It's in everyone's interest that they go their separate ways. At least that's what Nick keeps trying to tell himself</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Tap at the Pane

**Author's Note:**

  * For [koanju (verstehen)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/verstehen/gifts).



> Is it happy Not Prime Time? Merry NPT? Whichever, I hope you enjoy!
> 
> Title from a line in "Meeting at Midnight" by Robert Browning.

> _BREAKING -- Washington, D.C._

> _The controversy surrounding leaked government documents confirming the existence of a clandestine project to manipulate citizens with enhanced cognitive outputs into super-soldiers continues to grow. Code-named "Division," the project appears to have been authorized to seek out, imprison, and experiment on individuals in an effort to expand their naturally-occurring psychic abilities with the intent of weaponization. Similar and unsuccessful experiments were infamously spearheaded by Dr. Mengele and the Nazis during World War II. Psychics' advocate groups have for years claimed just such a secret government operation existed but their claims were largely dismissed as outlandish fear-mongering._

  


The first postcard comes in the mail six days after Nick moves into his shoebox of an apartment in an old Irish neighborhood in Chicago. It says "Greetings from the Alamo" across the front in block letters, each a different picture of the place. Nick almost didn't see it, barely noticing a corner sticking out between the pages of the weekly coupon circular. Flipping it over, Nick immediately recognizes the drawing as one of Cassie's and his chest tightens with a familiar fear. He still thinks her style is still more childlike than artistically regressive (that was a memorable argument), but it's clearly meant to be him even without a label over his spiky, quickly drawn hair like he got used to seeing. 

They, Cassie, Elizabeth, and Nick, decided to lay low until Division was well and truly gone when they split up. Nick Grant's not exactly John Smith, but it's a common enough name. Still he's Luke Dawson to his landlord, and the postcard is written in Cassie's chicken scratch. The picture shows him and he thinks it's a baseball, but it could be a spoked wheel, and maybe grass? Although that could be sand. It's blue, but he spent two years glancing over Cassie's shoulder as she sketched in her notebooks. As much as she loves color, she doesn't often bother getting them true to life. Nick stuffs the postcard into his pocket and heads out of the building, his earlier plans for spending the night with a beer mindlessly watching whatever TV channel wasn't news or infomercials forgotten.

One of the few upsides of the past two years that Nick can think of is the network of friends and friends of friends, sniffs, watchers, shadows, stitches, even the occasional bleeder or pusher, that volunteer their skills whenever they might be needed. He's never met Muriel, but a name and an address is all he needs right now. Nick can't think of a reason Cassie would send him a drawing. Waiting for the L, he pulls the postcard and looks at it again. The card's from San Antonio, but the postmark is from somewhere in New Mexico. At least Cassie and Elizabeth are together if things start to go south again.

Nick's checking house numbers, feeling out of place in the quiet neighborhood, when he spots the house he's looking for. Before he makes it up the steps, the front door swings open and two boys run out, carrying skateboards and a basketball. An older woman stands in the doorway and yells, "Jordan! Shawn! Be back for dinner!"

The boys are already halfway down the block and holler something unintelligible across their shoulders.

"And you must be Nick. Got a call about expecting you," she says, taking off a pair of gardening gloves.

Nick frowns. "Did they say anything else?"

"Only that you'd need something looked at. Come on in, I'm fixing for some lemonade. Can I get you some?" Muriel asks, a sweet smile on her face.  
"No thanks," he says following her back to the kitchen, trying not to fidget.

"Sit, sit," Muriel says as she pours herself a glass of lemonade. Taking the seat across the table from Nick, she takes a sip, and says, "Now. What do you need a sniff for?"

Nick pulls the postcard from his pocket and slides it across the table, the side with Cassie's picture up.

"I've got a friend. A watcher. And this came in the mail today. I need to know if she's in trouble."

Muriel contemplates Nick and then the postcard before picking it up and running her fingers along the edge, her fingers catching on a corner that's been bent slightly. Her eyes flutter shut while she continues to handle the postcard.

Muriel takes a deep breath and opens her eyes. The postcard she lays back down on the table.

"The blonde girl?" Muriel asks.

"Yes," Nick replies, his knee bouncing under the table.

"I can tell you which mailbox she dropped that postcard into. And where she bought it," Muriel says, taking another sip of her drink. "But that's not what you want to know."

"She's not in trouble? Where is she now?"

"Oh, honey, for that you need a watcher, not me. Too many people handling the mail between you and her." Muriel leans back and narrows her eyes, and asks, "You sure she's just a friend?"

Nick's head jerks up in surprise. "What? I mean, we're not. She's too. Yes, she's just a friend."

Muriel nods and brings the glass of lemonade to her lips. Somehow Nick thinks she's not convinced. He reaches for the postcard and takes another look at the picture. If she wasn't sending him a message, then why send it?

He fingers the worn corner of the card and asks, “Was her hair any color other than blonde?”

Muriel smiles. “Seemed like there was some blue in there too.”

  


> _Vice Chairman of the Joint Chiefs of Staff, General Zachary Bates has been ordered to appear before a closed Senate hearing committee after previously denying any knowledge or involvement with Division. This has created speculation that Gen. Bates, who has said on record he would support the development of specialized units within the military command structure that consisted solely of ECO soldiers, is more deeply involved than previously thought. Lauren Monaco, current Assistant to the President for Homeland Security and Counterterrorism may face criminal charges for initially authorizing the project._

  


  


The second postcard comes the day after and this time it's easy to spot; Nick doesn't get a lot of mail. It's got a picture of blue whale on the front, but a real one, some kind of sculpture or waterslide, and Oklahoma Route 66 written across the bottom. He flips it over expecting another of Cassie's drawings, but there's just a short, scrawled sentence. Like she didn't have time to say any more.

**just a drawing dumbass**

It's so very Cassie, like she hasn't been since Hong Kong when things got exponentially worse before they got better and before slogging through pages and pages of stolen documents referencing 'subjects' like they weren't talking about humans—Cassie's mom included. Nick laughs, short and loud. The air of his apartment feels displaced and too quiet after his outburst. Still smiling he tucks the postcard, this time with a Iowa postmark, next to the card from the Alamo in the sill of his kitchen window. 

For the first time in a very long while, Nick feels something in his chest relax. He's not exactly living under his own name and he's still taking circuitous routes that double back in case there's someone on his tail, psychic or not. He's spent too long looking over his shoulder and watching people he cared about get hurt and die to live a life that's ordinary. It'd be joke more than anything if he tried. And yet there are moments like this one when he thinks of a girl handing him a flower and easy and ordinary is all he wants.

If his luck holds up, he might still have a shot.

  


> _The White House has yet to make an official statement, but the President has called an emergency cabinet meeting to address the scandal. Sources within the administration deny that President Ellis was aware of Division prior to last week when documents proving its existence surfaced. Both Anonymous, the so-called "hacktivist" group, and Wikileaks have declined to take credit for the leak but have released statements applauding those parties responsible._

  



End file.
